


Volant

by Lycoriseum



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Rocket Angel Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-28 16:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7647877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycoriseum/pseuds/Lycoriseum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles for Rocket Angel Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old Times

Angela pressed the door buzzer, hoping she would not find Ana sitting at her desk. Their second-in-command was notoriously impatient when it came to paperwork, and she had been trapped at HQ for two weeks straight. That Ana seemed restless ever since she returned from leave did not help matters. The doctor was about to propose a humanitarian mission that would necessitate more time at the table for Ana. She would need every sliver of goodwill to push her proposal through.

The door slid open, and Angela strode through to find Ana pacing up and down the office with a phone pressed to her ear. Ana paused, gaze falling to the datapad in her hands, and gestured towards the table. Angela nodded and moved further in, listening to Ana speak rapidly into the phone. The entire conversation was in Arabic – the only word she recognised was _'Fareeha'_ – and the sniper did not sound too happy. Exasperated, even. Stifling a sigh, Angela set her datapad down on the sleek wooden desk, wondering how to deal with her vexed superior. That was when the picture of Fareeha caught her eye.

Ana's personal tablet lay at the edge of the keyboard, its screen filled with a photo of her daughter. Angela cocked her head, shifting over for a better look. She had not seen Fareeha in almost seven years. The last time she saw the younger Amari was when she covered the fifteen-year-old with a jacket, as she slept on the couch in Ana's office. That slim, peaceful figure from her memories was nowhere to be found in the picture before her.

Fareeha stood tall, chin held high and now-broad shoulders straight. She was dressed in standard-issue military PT kit, the dull grey chain for her dog tags peeked out from under the t-shirt's round collar. The defined contours of her biceps filled out the sleeves nicely – a sign of dedicated training. Her shoulder-length hair was now worn in a pixie cut. But the most striking difference was in her face: any remainders of baby fat had been worn smooth, emphasising the definition of her jaw and cheekbones. The softness in her eyes was replaced with firm resolve. She was now a striking copy of Ana – or at least, a younger Ana. Without the tattoo.

"She joined the army three weeks ago."

Angela jumped at the sound of Ana's voice, spinning on her heel to face the woman standing beside her. The corner of her eyes crinkled in amusement at Angela's shock and her subsequent effort to gather herself. Taking a discrete breath, Angela watched the sniper set her phone down on the table.

"No wonder you've been looking tense," Angela commented.

Ana heaved a sigh, settling back in her chair. "As if dealing with our problems is not enough. Now I have to worry for this one as well."

"I'm sure she is doing fine."

"She is," Ana said flatly. "My friend tells me she has been performing well. Almost frighteningly so."

"Oh? Then it would seem she takes after you." Angela had intended it to be a compliment, something to lighten Ana's mood. But at the sight of the tired gaze, she wondered if she had made a misstep.

"I should hope not."

The doctor stood uneasily beside Ana. "Did you not want her to enlist?"

"No. I tried to stop her, but she ran out before I could do anything."

"But why stop her? Joining the military is a family tradition, is it not?"

"It is also the best way to get killed," Ana said. "You understand that, don't you?"

Of course she did. How many soldiers had she lost, watching them take their last breaths while her hands were still slick with their blood? The image of Fareeha lying on makeshift bedding, lips pale and cracked as she bled out flashed past Angela's eyes. She held her breath unconsciously, recalling a teenage Fareeha running around the base with Jesse's serape tied around her neck like a cape. Fear rose unbidden for the girl she had not seen in years, who was now grown and on her way to the frontlines. Her eyes fell to Fareeha's photo again, feeling a sudden urge to somehow pull her out of the screen, and talk her out of her endeavour.

Ana's fingers lingered at the side of the tablet, before pressing the button to lock the screen. Fareeha's picture winked off, releasing Angela from her pall. She looked over at Ana, returning her silent gaze in a moment of shared understanding. Then the sniper reached for her datapad, breaking their connection as she looked over the summary of Angela's proposal.

The doctor collected herself, rounding the table to sit in the chair opposite Ana. She wanted to say something, anything that would set Ana's mind at ease. To set her _own_ mind at ease. But there was nothing. Fareeha had chosen to fight. There was nothing they could do to change that now. The best she could do was pray for the woman's safety, and hope they would be able to meet again.


	2. Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background: Petras Act repealed, 2nd Omnic Crisis in Russia underway.

The Russian captain stood stock still, face straight as he was subjected to intense scrutiny. His jaw was set, but Pharah noted the slight tremble in his right leg, hidden from view behind the table. A bead of perspiration trailed down his temple as the rest spectated his silent war with Overwatch's medic. Then he shifted his gaze, prompting six pairs of eyes to rest upon her instead. He was deferring to Pharah, and she hated him for choking on the decision.

"We split the company," Pharah said, standing firm under Mercy's glare. "I will lead the assault team with Zarya and Winston. Mercy will remain with D.Va and Ana to coordinate rescue efforts." She looked back at Captain Kuritsyn. "Have your soldiers ready in an hour." He nodded, and she swept her eyes over the rest of the personnel in the tent. All wore a look of grim determination, ready to execute the plan chosen.

At Kuritsyn's dismissal, the officers filed out of the tent – behind the medic. Mercy had marched out, displeasure evident in the click of her heels and the none-too-gentle way she ripped the tent flap open. It was rare – very rare – to see the medic losing her temper in public. Watching her gentle and gracious demeanour give way to quiet seething was rather unsettling, as evidenced by the slight apprehension in Zarya's expression. Pharah strode over to the Russian, telling her to inform the squad of what had transpired. The bulwark of a woman nodded, needing no further explanation. They parted the moment they stepped out of the tent, Zarya heading off to find the squad while Pharah followed Mercy back to the field hospital.

Her boots crunched through the thick layer of snow as she trudged towards the large medical tent. Soldiers and medics ran past her in a hurry, some slowing for a double-take at the Raptora armour before focusing back on the crisis at hand. An omnic squadron had launched an assault on a residential area near the Russian field camp, while they were busy defending their base from more omnics. Now, in addition to ruined infrastructure and wounded soldiers, the overextended company had to send aid to the civilians as well. In an ideal situation, the entire camp would be concentrated on aid and rescue efforts. But the omnic squad in question was responsible for a slew of rampant killings and destruction in the past month alone. Captain Kuritsyn had received orders from top brass to wipe them out, no matter the cost. Thus the creation of the assault team, splitting off manpower that could have been assigned to relief.

Pharah let out a breath and entered the tent, carefully navigating through the frenzied flurry of activity to reach the makeshift partition of Mercy's office. Said medic was currently hunched over the computer, jabbing away at the keyboard. She made no move to recognise Pharah's presence, focusing instead on the casualty list being updated by the second, while the real-time logistics system tracked their rapidly diminishing medical supplies.

"Angela," she said quietly, aware of the lack of a proper door. Though Mercy remained absorbed in the data, Pharah knew she had heard her. The medic's anger was still boiling at its peak; a fact confirmed when Pharah touched her arm, only to have it jerked out of her grasp. Her familiarity with the doctor was the only thing that stopped her from taking a step back under the scalding glare.

"You know we can't let this omnic squad escape again. They've been wreaking havoc all over the–"

"Then go after them. We cannot disobey orders." Sarcasm dripped from her words like venom.

"You think we're being barbarians," Pharah said. There was no need to ask. Her disapproval had been made clear since their first meeting with Kuritsyn – a living embodiment of the saying _'shoot first, ask later'._

"Angela, we have to wipe them out before they hit us again. Before they hurt even more civilians. We have to bring them to justice for all they have done."

" _'Justice'?_ " Mercy's voice was raised, the corners of her lips curved in bitter cynicism. "This is not about 'justice' anymore, Pharah. This is about _revenge_. I'm not blind. I can see you and Kuritsyn _craving_ to destroy the omnics ever since their first attack. No, you don't care about justice anymore. All you care about is getting revenge, even if it means the death of those you're supposed to be protecting!"

"Are you being short-sighted on purpose?" Pharah matched her volume. Whatever concern she had about being overheard was long forgotten. "This omnic squadron has been killing people by the _thousands_. If we throw all our resources into rescuing the hundreds we have here instead of catching them, we'd only be signing the death warrant for hundreds more. We need to end them here, and end them _now_. We need to give hope to the rest–"

"Hope? Good. Go, give them hope. But remember not to tell them their _'hope'_ was bought with the lives of their fellow countrymen."

" _You are–_ "

"Get out. I have orders to follow, _Captain_."

Pharah held her ground, pushing down the instinctive urge to apologise. There was no time. Her act of betrayal against Mercy's morals would have to be addressed another time. The medic turned away from her, taking one last glance at the computer screen before storming over to the supply cabinet. Gritting her teeth, hands clenching into fists, Pharah walked out of the office with as much dignity she could muster. Ignoring the quick sidelong glances from the medical staff, she exited the tent and headed for the armoury. She had orders to follow through, as well.

* * *

Pharah stood at the gates, watching the tanks work through the carpet of snow at the base's exterior. Her helmet was already in place, visor informing her that these tanks were undamaged from their previous battle. Good. They would need every edge they could scrounge up at this point.

Two large shadows fell over her, and Pharah turned her head to see the towering figures of Zarya and Winston. Their wounds were nowhere to be found – Mercy's work, no doubt. The thought of the medic sent another chaotic echo through her chest, emotions that had no place where she was about to go.

"Let us move, Pharah. We will not let them escape this time," Zarya declared, hefting her particle cannon.

Pharah nodded curtly, and the Russian headed to their armoured truck, ready to bring some payback down on the omnics' heads. Winston's eyes flickered towards Pharah knowingly, large hand patting her shoulder before following Zarya. Adjusting her grip on her launcher, Pharah gave in to the tickling sensation in the back of her mind, and turned towards the camp.

The white winged figure stood far away from the gates, next to a tent in the barracks. Pharah increased the magnification on her visor, bringing Mercy's face into clear view. The medic's countenance was still lined with bitterness and strain. And yet, despite their argument before, concern was laid bare in her eyes as they stared through Pharah's visor. No matter how disgruntled she was, Mercy could not help but worry for their safety. Compassion was too deeply ingrained in her soul for her to do otherwise.

Guilt and adoration pierced through her heart then. Pharah screwed her eyes shut, unable to hold the gaze any longer. She turned away, recalibrating the visor's magnification and putting Mercy's image out of her mind. Taking a deep breath, Pharah straightened her shoulders and activated thrusters, soaring over the strike team as they headed towards another bloody battle.

She vowed to return in one piece. That was the best gift she could give to Mercy now.


	3. Broken Wings

" _Angie! Angie, Angie!_ "

Lena's frantic calls could be heard through her office door. Angela sprang up from her chair, hand already halfway to the case containing her staff, when the Londoner burst into the room.

"What's wrong?" she asked, noting the lack of desperation in Lena's anxiety. She was panting a little, only the faintest flush sat on her cheeks. Angela dropped her hand from the case; she had a feeling she would not need the staff.

"We need medical attention!" Lena jabbed her fingers towards the door, which Fareeha just jogged through. The Egyptian wore a look of urgency as well, though distinctly calmer than the younger woman's. Angela's gaze fell to her cupped hands, where a small bird lay chirping pitifully.

"Help it, doc!"

The doctor's brows furrowed in both amusement and exasperation. She moved close to examine the bird. It had brown feathers along its back and wings, though its belly and breast were white. The orange beak and legs gave a nice contrast to its duller plumage. Angela leaned in to identify the source of the women's distress: the bird's wings were held at odd angles – they seemed to be broken. The bird itself was lying on its front, chirping dazedly for help. But as much as she wanted to, Angela could do nothing to relieve its pain.

"I cannot, Lena. I'm a doctor, not a vet."

"But your staff?"

"My staff was designed to work with human physiology, not avian. You have to bring it to a vet in town."

"I remember seeing one," Fareeha said, and Lena started pulling on her arm.

"Then let's go!"

The pair ran out of the room. Fareeha did an odd half-jog to keep her hands steady, so she would not jostle the bird. Angela rushed to the door, calling after them.

"Wait! Don't you have duties to–,"

Too late. The med bay doors slid shut. Angela sighed, opting to pretend she did not know what was happening. Hopefully they would return before Jack realised they had run off base.

* * *

Bastion sat at the dining table with them for the first time since its recruitment. Angela found it little intimidating, sitting adjacent to their robotic friend who had settled at the foot of the table. Though she knew its acquired nature was much gentler than most of their human and cyborg agents, Bastion's sheer size coupled with the whiff of motor oil still put her on edge. The discomfort, however, was offset by the entertainment it brought to the table. Quite literally.

Ganymede – Bastion's loyal feathered friend – was hopping around the table where their little rescued bird sat. Its bright plumage outshone the newcomer's easily, but it was matched by how adorable the smaller bird was. It came with size, Angela supposed.

Bringing another forkful of salad into her mouth, Angela watched the other agents coo over the rescued bird as eagerly as they had with Ganymede upon its arrival. Part of her felt pity for the poor thing – it was sitting in one spot with bandaged wings, and yet had to tolerate an endless parade of fingers smoothing over its head. Just let it heal in peace, for god's sake. And it seemed Ganymede soon had the same idea. After a little chirp from its friend, Ganymede started pecking at anyone who dared to reach for it again.

"Ow! Hey, what is wrong with you, Gany?" Lucio asked, retracting his aching finger.

"Think it wants us to leave the little thing alone," Jesse replied, cradling a similarly well-pecked index finger.

"It's injured," Angela said. It took all she had to keep from rolling her eyes. "How would you feel if people kept touching you when you're hurt?"

"Lucky?" Jesse winked.

"You sound lonely, Jesse," Fareeha said, taking a bite out of her sandwich.

"Not everyone has a doctor to touch them day and night, you know."

To Fareeha and Angela's credit, they did not blush. Instead, they sent a crouton and a small bit of chicken flying at Jesse's face in unison.

" _Hey!_ "

"We should give the new one a name," Lena suggested, leaning forward on her elbows to peer closer at the bird pair.

Bastion promptly emitted a few _bweep-bwoops_ , which Lucio translated, "Bastion wants to call it Io."

"I still don't believe you understand him," Jesse muttered. He tossed a piece of used tissue next to his plate, done with wiping his face. Lucio merely shrugged with an enigmatic smile.

"But it's good!" Lena said. "Io and Ganymede: the moons of Jupiter. Anyone who objects, raise your right leg to the air."

No limbs rose in objection, and Lena clapped her hands together. "Alright! You are now Io, you little cutie." She extended a finger towards Io. Ganymede puffed up threateningly, forcing Lena to rethink her action.

"Er–right. So, where will Io stay? _I volunteer my room!_ " she added quickly, as if it would make the custody battle easier.

"And I volunteer mine," Fareeha contested, getting a look of utter betrayal from Lena. "Oh come on, I was the one who drove us to the vet!"

"And I was the one who found Io!"

"I paid for the treatment."

"I held it all the way back."

Bastion _bwooped_ and _wheewed_ again. Lucio said, "Now that's a good idea. Why not do it in shifts? Each one of us gets to have Io for…one, two nights? Then the next person takes over."

Angela continued working her way through her salad, as the unanimous agreement quickly fell apart when they started arguing over who would get Io first. She did not bother, though. When Io was in Fareeha's care, it would be under hers as well.

* * *

Fareeha was already sprawled across her usual spot in the doctor's bed, fast asleep, by the time Angela returned from her walk that night. The blanket was draped across her hip – Fareeha had a tendency to kick the covers in her sleep – where bare skin was revealed by the tank top that had ridden up her stomach. Angela walked over to the bed, grasping onto the edge of the covers before she noticed the small lump on top of Fareeha's chest. Of course. Fareeha had won the argument that afternoon.

A smile grew on her lips when she moved closer, watching Io sleep peacefully on warm Egyptian skin. The sight of the bird, slowly buoyed up and down in time with Fareeha's breathing, was endearing. But logic also told her it was a downright careless way to handle the bird. So Angela reached out carefully, to cup her hands underneath the bird without waking it.

She failed. Her palms barely met each other when Io stirred, shaking its tiny butt and head, chirping drowsily. At the melodic sound, Fareeha woke as well. With a small grunt, she opened her bleary eyes in time to watch Angela lift the bird from her chest.

"No…" she drawled, raising her hand to catch Angela's. Fareeha whined when Angela moved out of her reach. "Don't kidnap my baby."

"I'm not 'kidnapping', _Bärchen_ ," Angela said. "I'm saving Io from being squashed when you turn over in bed."

"Then I won't turn over," Fareeha grumbled. But she remained on her back anyway, watching Angela bring Io to the cardboard box they had fashioned into a temporary bird lodging.

Io tweeted softly as if in gratitude when Angela placed it on top of its bed – a wide spread of cotton bundled with a handkerchief. She ran a finger over its head, feeling herself grow more attached to the little thing. Must be squad's influence.

Angela watched Io close its eyes and nestle into the bed, then went to climb back into her own. She paused to check for bird droppings before laying her head where Io had been earlier. Fareeha's chest shook as she chuckled lazily, hand coming to rest on Angela's head.

"You were jealous of Io."

Deciding to play along, Angela muttered, "No one gets to sleep on my chest."

"Don't you mean _my_ chest?"

"Your chest is my chest." Angela's head was bobbed a little more.

"Oh?" Fareeha moved her hand slowly downwards, trailing down her shoulder and bicep. "Then I guess…this is _my_ chest then?"

Her eyes snapped open when the hand landed on her breast. "Faree–!" A cheeky squeeze made her gasp.

Angela laughed breathlessly, smacking Fareeha's hand off. She raised her eyes to find a lopsided grin on Fareeha's face, and pulled herself up so she could kiss it away.

"So…am I kissing your lips or mine?" Fareeha whispered.

"Shut up." Angela brought their lips together again. This time, she wore a smile that moulded perfectly with Fareeha's.


	4. Loneliness

She expected this. She had been through it twice, after all. The first when she joined the army. The second when Helix recruited her. Fareeha knew full well how this would play out. For the first few months, all that would come out of her comrades' mouths was _'Ana, Ana, Ana'_. How great Ana was. How Ana inspired her peers and subordinates. How Ana single-handedly saved an entire squad or a mass of civilians. How Ana looked amazing on Overwatch posters. How Ana was such a capable mother, to have raised such a capable daughter.

But the kicker always was how sorry they were about Ana's death.

Fareeha clutched onto her mug. Not too tightly; she did not want her impatience to show. She kept the practiced smile on her face as she watched Reinhardt slam a hand onto the table, recounting a mission he had with Ana. He was the biggest challenge she had encountered so far. Everyone who ever told stories of Ana in front of her – as an icebreaker – always did it with reverence. They would finish their tales with a respectful pause, resting sympathetic gazes on Fareeha. And that was where it usually ended. But this German giant would clap his hand on her shoulder at frequent intervals, sharing a passionate gaze that he expected to be reciprocated. That was her cue to grin and nod, sometimes laugh depending on the tone of the story.

He was trying so hard to wring every bit of familial pride from Fareeha. A daughter who no doubt loved her hero of a mother. A hero who had chosen not to appear before her child, even after recovering from her supposed death. A hero who did not care enough for her friends to tell them she was alive.

What a kicker indeed.

Satisfied with Fareeha's positive reaction, Reinhardt's hand fell from her shoulder again as he continued with the story. The rest of the squad's attention fell away from her, and onto Reinhardt's vivid description of Ana and her acts of valour. Fareeha sipped on her hot chocolate, feeling its heat but not tasting its sweetness. Her tongue was coated with an entirely different taste. Sitting at the corner of the table, it was easy to forget that she was now part of the squad. The ghost of Ana made it so easy. She wondered how many of them could look at her without seeing Ana first.

She expected this. She had been through it twice. But the third time was not getting any easier. Excusing herself softly on the pretense of having leftover work, Fareeha patted Reinhardt's massive bicep and strode out of the kitchen. It was more comfortable walking along the darkened hallway. At least she did not have to act happy as she did back there. She did not have to act like she belonged.

Choosing to go sit at the cliff side she had spotted in the first week, Fareeha took a turn towards the exit instead of the living quarters. It brought her past the med bay doors, which opened just as she passed.

The doctor's tired gaze landed on her, recognition lighting up blue irises.

"Fareeha."

She halted, taken by surprise. Angela needed no pause to remember she was not her mother. The comforting smile that sat just behind her lips – for those who still missed Ana – died away. Fareeha stood mutely with the mug in her hands, as the doctor started to look concerned.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Fareeha recovered enough to speak smoothly. She smiled anyway – a genuine one. "Are you just knocking off?" The watch on Fareeha's wrist told her it was 10.42pm. Much too late for the doctor to still be toiling away at her table.

"Yes. And you?" Angela glanced at her mug. "Where are you headed?"

"Outside. To…sit," she finished lamely.

"Oh. Would you like some company?"

Fareeha tapped a finger against her cup. She had not expected the question. Was she just asking out of courtesy? Or did she really mean it? Angela looked quite worn out – hair pulled messily back into a ponytail, light bags hanging beneath her eyes. The doctor had a tendency to lose herself in work, and no one could quite figure out how to intervene without being scared shitless.

As if sensing her hesitance, Angela explained, "I can't fall asleep right after work. Need some time to unwind."

Fareeha nodded in understanding.

"It would be nice to unwind with someone for a change."

 _Who in the world could refuse such a sweet smile?_ Fareeha's eyes widened when the thought flitted through her mind. She gave herself a mental slap, but it seemed her brain was well and truly fried – her hands jerked upwards to obey the command. Never had she been more thankful to be carrying just a half-filled cup; the hot chocolate sloshed menacingly towards the rim before settling back again.

"Are you alright, Fareeha? You look a little flushed."

The cool hand came to rest on her forehead, and Fareeha fought to keep her body still.

"I'm fine. Just–uh." There was a sense of loss when the chilly touch left her skin. "I would love company. If you're up for it."

"I am," Angela said, a corner of her mouth quirked. "Just let me get some tea, and I'll be with you."

When Angela learned of her plan to sit by the cliff side, she suggested another spot instead. It had a much better view, Angela promised, and she came through. Fareeha stood behind the safety railings, staring out at the dark sea from the top of the communications tower. There was something soothing about the large, ominously black body of water. She felt an urge to float in it. Jump in and just…float.

"The sky is beautiful too, you know," Angela said. She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall of the control room.

Fareeha lifted her gaze and found that she was right. Innumerable stars shone above, forming a glittering sea of their own. Her urge to float in the sea grew stronger. To have such a beautiful view before her eyes as she lay in the water…the prospect was too appealing. She turned back to where the doctor sat, smiling up at Fareeha.

"I like coming up here when I need to clear my mind," Angela said as Fareeha sat down beside her. "It is relaxing, no?"

"It is." Fareeha returned the smile, then turned her gaze back forward. She lifted her cup of hot – now cold – chocolate and took a sip. Angela started asking about her well-being, how she was coping with being in Overwatch. Fareeha found herself growing tense as she answered the questions, dreading one that will inevitably be about another Amari.

But it never came. Angela continued asking about her life in Helix, then in the army. She listened to Fareeha's little anecdotes, always giving her full attention despite her weary state. Asking astute questions, giggling at funny bits, prompting her to continue. For the first time since she arrived at Gibraltar, Fareeha felt…present. Solid. No spectre of Ana Amari looming over her. No expectations. No barrier built by a family legacy. She could reach out to Angela without fear of being mistaken for another. And Angela could step into her circle as her first real…friend. Not colleague. Friend. She liked the sound of that.

Angela yawned grandly, leaning her head against the wall.

"Would you like to go back in?" Fareeha asked. Her companion hummed ambiguously and did not move. So they fell into a comfortable silence, Fareeha draining her cup as Angela closed her eyes. She looked out at the sea again, keeping her ears pricked to pick up the faint sound of waves crashing upon the cliff face below. It was tempting to stay here into the early morning, but Angela seemed to–

Something landed on her shoulder. Fareeha's heart slammed once against her chest in surprise. Then she turned her gaze to find a blonde head resting peacefully on her. Chest squeezing with a tenderness she had not felt in years, Fareeha leaned over carefully and picked up the cup dangling dangerously from Angela's fingers. She set it aside on the floor, wondering how to deal with the sleeping doctor. Wake her up? What if she did not appreciate the interruption? What about carrying her back. But what if she woke up halfway? It would make things a little awkward.

She settled for sitting just a bit longer, wishing the warmth on her shoulder would never leave. When it seemed Angela would not be waking any time soon, Fareeha decided to carry the doctor back. She left the cups on the floor – she would return for them later – and gathered Angela gently into her arms, beginning their descent down the tower.

She had been through it twice. But this time, someone had reached her through the Amari furore. Seen her for who she was – a person, not a daughter.

Fareeha peeked down at the sleepy head resting on her shoulder, nursing a tiny bubble of hope. This time. Maybe this time, she would not have to ride out the rough start by herself.


	5. Public Scandal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background: 5 years later. World's less messed up. Overwatch now legit and are celebrity heroes. Yeah. Don't take this one too seriously ok.

Fareeha kept her face buried in her hands, wishing the snickering would stop. The blush had burnt across her cheeks the moment Jack dropped the literal news on them. She peeked through her fingers at the screen in front of the briefing room, groaning again when she saw the stupid photo still displayed for everyone to see. It was of Fareeha and Hana walking through the streets of London, from the little vacation they took with a few others. The moment captured was just after Fareeha offered to buy the latest gaming rig for Hana's birthday. Hana, thoroughly overjoyed, flung her arms around the soldier and gave her a kiss on the cheek. An innocent, friendly peck. Captured by some stupid paparazzi's camera. Obviously, it had been blown out of proportion.

She was utterly mortified when Jack flashed the tabloid article on the screen. But Hana laughed so hard she almost knocked herself out on the table. Her reaction set off a chain of laughter that still had not subsided. Ten minutes passed, and they were still bent over in their chairs. Hana's hand slapped repeatedly against the table as she cackled breathlessly. She lifted her head to read the title out loud.

" _Hana Song Dates Fellow Agent Fareeha Amari_ "

The Korean dissolved into another laughing fit. She locked her arms over her head as it rested on the table, shoulders shaking like she was a human earthquake.

"When were you going to tell me, Fareeha?" Angela said, grinning when Fareeha spun her chair around, gaping.

"Relax, _babe_ ," Hana managed to breathe through her cackles. She looked positively dizzy with humour, returning Fareeha's warning stare from across the table. "We'll straighten things out, easy. I can do it in a stream."

"Then do it!"

"Shouldn't we do it an official capacity first?" Lucio asked.

"Yes, I'll prepare a statement for the press," Jack replied. "Then Hana can follow up with a stream to confirm it."

"I have a question," Jesse spoke up. He shrugged his serape behind one shoulder, leaning both elbows on the briefing table. "If this can be resolved so easily, why'd you gather all of us here?"

The crowded room fell silent. Only the faint whirring of Bastion's gears could be heard as all eyes focused on Jack. Their leader stared back at Jesse with a straight face, before his gaze shifted to Ana, who sat near the head of the table. Ana smiled benignly, lifting her teacup for a sip. She made eye contact with her increasingly annoyed daughter, and winked.

 _That's it._ This was how Fareeha would fall from grace. By murdering her own mother.

* * *

It did not take long for the Korean news to get wind of Hana's supposed _'scandal'_ , and the media positively exploded. Worldwide. Reactions were divided. The first half of the masses expressed support for Hana and _'the bold expression of her sexuality and love'_. Not to mention the increased interest in Fareeha, with more and more fan mail clogging her public inbox after a few days. Then the second half rose in objection, pointing out their age gap of 13 years, and denounced their non-existent relationship. So hate mail was introduced into her inbox as well, quantity growing until Fareeha gave up checking on it.

Hana seemed to be thriving on the attention – be it positive or negative. It gave her more site traffic and, to quote her exact words, she could now _'install a shower head that dispenses cash to bathe in'_. There was a drastic increase in the number of viewers watching her combat streams. According to screenshots and saved clips, the chat room would go apeshit whenever Pharah entered the screen, with people typing _'OTP OTP OTP'_ over and over again. Despite the lack of Hana's confirmation, thousands latched onto their 'relationship' anyway. And Fareeha was getting more and more uneasy as the days passed.

Finally, about two weeks since the first tabloid article and nine days from their official statement, Hana was conducting a stream session to straighten things out.

"You ready, Captain?" Hana greeted her at the door, with a wide grin plastered on her face.

"Let's just get this over with," Fareeha groaned. She followed the young woman into her room, where two chairs were already set up in front of her computer. An assortment of snacks and drinks were neatly arranged around the table, out of the camera's field of view. Fareeha noted a few healthier choices like dried fruit and unsalted nuts, which were placed near her assigned seat. _Well, points for consideration, I guess_.

"Relax and look happier, _habibti_." Hana gave her a once over, taking in her standard-issue Overwatch jacket and t-shirt underneath. The Korean was wearing a V-neck tee from her online store, which had her signature bunny icon on the front. "You're really popular among the women, you know."

"I don't really care, _ja-gi-ya_."

Hana's chin recoiled into her neck. "You know I hate it when people say that, right? It's really cringe-y."

"Why do you think I did it?"

"Whatever. Just tone it down during the stream. We need to convince them we're not actually together."

" _Sarang-hae, ja-gi-ya_ ," Fareeha raised her voice to a fluttery pitch, grabbing Hana by her shoulders and placing exaggerated smooches on her head. Hana laughed and started slapping at her.

"Fuck off, you gross piece of shit." She finally pressed a palm to the front of Fareeha's face, pushing her unceremoniously away. "You're married, remember?"

"Just barely." Fareeha grinned, though her heart did a flip at Hana's reminder. She glanced down at the wedding band on her ring finger. It had been a year since she became Angela's wife, and the thought of it still made her weak in the knees.

"Jesus Christ," Hana said, shaking her head at Fareeha when she looked up. "Even when you're not together you still manage to be mushy. You're god-tier. Fucking god-tier."

Fareeha smirked. "Maybe you'd understand what we feel if you asked Vera out."

She reveled in the silent victory when Hana blushed and turned back to the screen. Overwatch had accepted a continuous stream of promising recruits since it regained its former glory. One of the recent recruits, an Italian engineer named Vera Carelli, soon became the object of Hana's affection. Fareeha noticed the Korean spending a lot of time with Vera, learning more about mechanics than she ever cared to when only Torbjörn was around. Vera obviously enjoyed her company, but the Italian's subtle suggestions were lost on the surprisingly dense mech pilot. The two would need an intervention soon.

"You think she likes me?" Hana asked, red fading from her cheeks.

"Of course. Even my mother can see it with her right eye."

"She doesn't have a right eye."

"Exactly."

"Oh." Hana bit her lip, bringing up the streaming software. She glanced over when Fareeha clapped a hand on her shoulder.

"Just go for it. What's the worst that could happen? Your pride gets wounded?" Fareeha said. "But think of all the good things if it goes well. You never know." She wiggled her fingers, showing Hana her wedding band.

"I'll…think about it," Hana acquiesced uncertainly. "But for now we have to make it clear I'm single, huh?"

"Let's go, then." Fareeha leaned in expectantly.

Hana gave her a last minute brief: stay cool, ignore haters and trolls, leave the talking to her, and enjoy it. It was…certainly an experience. Much more different than any interview she had ever done for news segments and conferences. This was obviously more casual and Hana, though she did tone it down, still cursed a little. Quite a few viewers lashed out at her when they confirmed they were _not_ dating, and Hana's follower count dropped. Not too much, but Fareeha still felt a little bad. Hana did not seem to care though; she ploughed on and soon eased Fareeha into a comfortable routine of punting jibes and jokes at each other.

Then the door opened, and the two turned their heads to find Angela walking into the room. Fareeha was about to return her attention to the camera when Angela spoke out. Surprising, as they were familiar with Hana's number one rule: thou shalt not disturb the gamer during streams.

"Have you told them you're not dating?"

"Yeah. Why?" Hana asked.

Angela said nothing more. She strode over to Fareeha, whose eyes widened when Angela cupped her cheek, and enveloped her in a passionate kiss.

"Oh my fucking god," she heard Hana say behind her, but no move was made to part them.

Fareeha, despite tensing up when Angela's mouth met hers, found herself relaxing into the kiss. Angela's thumb caressed her cheek, and Fareeha held onto her wrist like an anchor. She gazed up at her wife when they parted, a little disoriented and in a state of disbelief. Angela had just kissed her in front of thousands of viewers, but Fareeha realised she did not care.

"Ah crap," Hana said, drawing the women's attention. "The chat server got overloaded."

Upon closer inspection, they saw the chat room had come to a standstill. At the bottom in grey font was: _Server disconnected. Reconnecting…_

But the true entertainment lay above the technical notice. Hana's viewers had gone berserk at their onscreen kiss, typing incoherent words and in some cases, just random letters slammed out by hysterical fingers. Hana announced a thirty minute break, and turned off the camera.

"We were doing just fine, Angie," Hana said, wearing a smile. "You didn't have to come in and steal my fans, you know."

"I just want everyone to know this one is mine." Angela hugged Fareeha's head to her chest. "Besides, it will be good for your follower count."

And it was. By the time Hana's stream went back on, Fareeha and Angela's kiss was already making its grand victory lap around the internet. Short clips and screenshots were shared endlessly. Hana's Twitter and Twitch follower count soared even higher, and suddenly the next hot power couple was the two Overwatch agents. Hana and Fareeha's _'scandal'_ not so much as faded into the background, but up and vanished like it never happened. The craze over them lasted for weeks until eventually, Angela stopped checking her inbox as well.

Then one day, they woke up to find _#Pharmercy_ trending worldwide. An investigation into its source tracked it back to a mysterious Twitter account, with only one tweet to its name, created just the day the hashtag blew up. Its handle?

@SniperQueenRa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "ja-gi-ya" = darling  
> "sarang-hae" = I love you


	6. Distance

Jesse groaned for the millionth time in a row, rolling over in frustration. Fareeha clicked her tongue when a hairy leg knocked into hers, and pushed him back to his side of the bed with her foot. He gave a muffled whine into the pillow when his hip was thrust into an odd angle. Retracting her leg, Fareeha closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. But she could not help thinking of how much she missed Angela's lovely scent, when the thin whiff of cigar smoke made another pass under her nostrils. Jesse wriggled in his spot again, still facing downwards, and reached up to hug his pillow. Fareeha gritted her teeth when his elbow knocked into her shoulder. She was about to lose it when Jesse beat her to it.

"Oh, _fuck_ Jack up his stupid pompous ass with his fuckin' pulse rifle!" He sat up on his haunches, yell ricocheting off the wall behind the bed.

"You should use my launcher," Fareeha suggested, opening her eyes. "It's much more painful."

"No, use my particle cannon," Zarya said from her post in front of the monitors. "It is much bigger."

"Why don't we use all of them?" Lena lounged in her chair beside Zarya, with both feet up on the table. "And I'll stick my pistols up his nose."

The four of them were assigned to this spy mission in Madrid, to track a notorious weapons dealer back to his hideout. It was a…punishment, of sorts. Jack conducted a surprise drill a few nights before – to keep the agents on their toes when an emergency did happen, and a quick reaction team had to be assembled. During this particular drill, their performance was abysmal. Just the four of them and their respective partners. They arrived at the briefing room almost four minutes late, looking absolutely disheveled.

Aleksandra appeared in only her sports bra and workout shorts. Mei was in a t-shirt so big it almost hung to her knees. Jesse reached the room without his pants, his grace saved by Hanzo who passed him a robe. Said archer was wearing a silly cartoon print t-shirt that belonged to Jesse and his own sweatpants. Fareeha wore a tee few sizes too small, displaying a strip of skin beneath it. Angela's shirt was buttoned all wrong, and she wore Fareeha's shorts which hung loose around her slimmer thighs. Lena was dressed in her own clothes, but there were marks all over her neck and collarbone. Only Amélie appeared well put together – that was, until Fareeha noticed the lack of a bra underneath her turtleneck sweater.

The fraternisation ban was almost brought down on their heads, before Ana stepped in and reminded Jack of how well it worked in the old Overwatch. Reinhardt and Torbjörn concurred, so Jack settled for another solution: separate the lovebirds to make a statement. So here they were in Madrid, far away from their lovers' arms. And it was slowly driving them up the wall. Too bad the proper people were not there to pin them against it.

Fareeha sat up as well, knowing she would not be able to sleep just yet. Her shift at the surveillance cameras with Jesse was done an hour ago, but her mind was still rather alert. Jesse moved to sit down in his spot, forehead landing on Fareeha's shoulder.

"I'm gonna die, birdie," he muttered. "I'm gonna die."

"I know, cowboy." Fareeha patted on knotted brown locks. "But we're going to make sure Jack dies first."

"Yeah. Fuck that asshole."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Jesse's shove almost toppled her off the bed, but she was saved by clinging onto his sleeve.

"Hey, hey!" The collar was pulled clear over his shoulder. Jesse tugged on her arm so she was righted, then frantically checked his t-shirt for damage. "Fuckin' hell, birdie. Be careful. Hanzo gave me this."

Fareeha sniggered. "Hanzo gave you _that_?" She pointed at the large bold letters printed on the front, spelling out _'BIG DADDY'_. "I find that hard to believe."

"Alright I picked it out and he paid for it, you happy?" he grumbled, straightening his top with all the dignity he had. Which was not much in that moment. He patted out a short rhythm on the bed, before throwing his hands up in the air.

"Ah screw it. I'm not falling asleep anytime soon. You?"

"No."

"Then let's go shopping."

"What."

"Ay, great!" Lena called from the living room. Which was right in front of the bedroom. Which was right beside the kitchen. Which was right up against the narrow entranceway. The whole apartment did not have proper partitions or doors save for the bedroom toilet. This was the best they could afford with the pittance they were given. Fuck Jack. Seriously.

"Go get us more snacks and food and water. And if you get sparkling again, Jesse, I'll blink you out of the window."

"And I will snap you like a twig," Aleks added.

"I got that by accident, okay?! I wasn't paying attention." Jesse climbed out of bed and to go argue with the two women.

Fareeha sighed and climbed out as well, switching her shorts out for jeans. As much as she loved these three, she would sell her soul to have Mercy glide in – wings and all – and fly her somewhere far away.

Very far away. Secluded. Where no one could hear her scream Angela's name as she gets ravished by–

" _ibn iš-šarmuuTa_ ," Fareeha cursed under her breath, leaning her head against the wardrobe.

Jack had better not conduct a drill the day they returned to base. It would be a very eventful homecoming.

* * *

Fareeha stayed at full alert as she watched Jesse's tracker slip and slide through the docks. The man had volunteered to go in alone, to scout out their target's base. Despite his laidback and sometimes moronic behaviour off duty, the man possessed a hidden intensity that bespoke a murky past, where even darker acts lurked. It was that same intensity that saw him safely through missions, and made him the perfect candidate for tasks such as this. That did not stop Fareeha from worrying about him though. If he got caught here, only Lena and Aleks were available as backup. Fareeha was too far away to help directly, and could only call for reinforcements before going in.

Their map was getting more and more detailed the longer Jesse remained in there. But it also meant an ever increasing risk of getting caught. She could not order him to stop – they were on strict radio silence until he bugged out – so they would have to trust his judgment. Lena's blue blip on the grey area map was lurking at the edges of the base, careful to stay out of sight. Aleks' was even further, motionless as she waited in their car.

Resisting the urge to drum her fingers, Fareeha kept her focus on the screens until Jesse's blip finally started making its way towards the edge. She watched it move rapidly to Lena's position, and the pair snuck off towards Aleks. A quick scan revealed no unknown signatures on their tails.

 _"Mission accomplished, Pharah."_ Jesse sounded smug – he had earned the right, after all. So she chose not to burst his bubble. Yet.

"Nice one, McCree. First round of drinks' on me. When we nip to the pub later?" Fareeha grinned at Lena's approving whoop.

_"Love ya, birdie. See you back home."_

The channel switched off with a crackle of static. Fareeha kept one eye on the screens as they tracked her teammates' position, and reached out for her phone which just vibrated. It was a message from Angela.

_[Where are you?]_

_[In the apartment. Why?]_

_[And the rest?]_

_[On the way back. Just finished up here. Why?]_

A few seconds passed when Angela's status went offline for a while. Fareeha raised a brow, glancing up at the monitors to make sure everything was in the green. Then her phone screen lit up again. She looked down and promptly snapped her gaze back up, checking the apartment to make sure she was truly alone.

Heart pumping faster, Fareeha's eyes landed back on the photo Angela just sent. She was lying in bed, propped up against her pillows. The photo started from her mouth, curved as she bit sensually on her bottom lip. Blonde tresses spilled over one shoulder, exposing a smooth expanse of creamy skin on the other. A thin bra strap hung tantalisingly off-shoulder, leading her eyes down to the sheer black bra with lacy patterns just barely covering her modesty. And the photo ended there.

Fareeha blinked, eyes glued to her lover's cleavage as she scrolled relentlessly downwards, hoping to load even more photos. Nothing. Her thumbs hovered above the keyboard as she tried to think of something witty to type. Nothing.

Angela sent her another message. Text, disappointingly.

_[Miss you.]_

_[Miss you too.]_

Then she smirked. Fareeha switched to her camera, lifting two fingers to her mouth. Parting the upright digits, she pressed her tongue against them, with only the tip poking through. Quickly snapping the photo, she sent it along with:

_[Save yourself for me.]_

She glanced back up at the monitors to check her team was still safe. They were, and no doubt already planning where they could suck her wallet dry. Satisfied, she looked back down to see another photo. It was now trained on Angela's mouth, with two fingers pushed through her parted lips – something Fareeha was prone to do during sex. The sight of Angela's tongue peeking through the fingers sent a thrill of arousal down her body. If only the fingers were _hers_ , not Angela's. As if that was not enough, a voice clip accompanied the photo.

 _"I'll try. But no promises,"_ Angela purred huskily. Fareeha could almost feel her breath on her ear.

_Fuck._

_[Good night, Bärchen. Sweet dreams ;) ]_

_No. No!_

Of course she was cutting it off now. Fareeha was right where Angela wanted her, and that was how the Swiss devil would have her stay. Silently giving thanks that their mission was complete, Fareeha locked her phone reluctantly. Depending on how quickly they could stash the equipment away, they would be back at Gibraltar within the next two days. And Angela had better be ready. It would be a very, _very_ eventful homecoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ابن الشرموطة (ibn iš-šarmuuTa) = son of a whore/bitch


	7. AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed AU. Set in Cairo, Egypt.

The floor beneath Doctor Angela Ziegler lurched, forcing her to stop and place a hand on the wall to keep from falling over. Leaning against the support, she closed her eyes, riding out the wave of dizziness. Thankfully it was the early morning, and there was not much foot traffic throughout the hospital at these hours. Particularly the Class A ward, where she was in. No visitors were sitting in the wide corridor. Even if they were here, they would be in the fully furnished suite rooms.

Taking deep breaths, Angela slowly reopened her eyes. The dizziness made its final lap around her brain, and trickled back to where it came from. She had been on the job for more than fourteen hours now. Maybe she should have taken her colleagues' advice to knock off a few hours ago. Steadying herself, she strode towards the room of the last and most important patient – owner of a leading med tech firm in Egypt, who was spearheading efforts to supply poor districts with the medical care they needed.

Angela opened the door quietly, to not rouse the sleeping patient. The room was dark, and she quickly closed the door to block out light from the corridor. She took a few steps in, and froze. A shadow darted away from the bed the moment she looked forward. Blood racing and hoping it was just her imagination, Angela stepped closer towards the bed. She had barely left the entranceway when a heavy weight slammed into her side. Clipboard clattering on the floor, Angela grabbed onto the forearm pressed against her neck, pinning her to the wall. An involuntary whimper escaped her lips, and she stared straight at her attacker–

 _Fareeha_.

It was difficult to see through the shadow cast by the low hood. But enough moonlight shone through the windows to illuminate half her face, and familiar dark brown eyes. The warmth and quiet gaiety she had come to cherish in those irises were nowhere to be found – replaced with cold calculation and a murderous glint. Angela's mouth trembled when she finally noticed the gloved palm facing her and – more importantly – the sleek blade that extended from a device on her wrist. Its razor-sharp tip was hovering above the artery in her neck, and Angela fought the urge to swallow, afraid the blade would pierce through her skin.

"F–Fareeha?" she whispered shakily.

Silence. Recognition took the hard edges off her glare, slowly washing away the visible hints of sinister intent. Her eyes softened a fraction and the blade at her neck moved away – but not by much. Just far enough to stop being an immediate threat, but close enough should the need to kill arise. The force pressing against her throat lightened, giving her enough space to breathe normally.

"Angela."

"What are you doing?" Angela asked. Her voice was still small, thoughts in a mess. But the cultivated steel in her spine started to regain its foothold, and her fingers trembled less on Fareeha's arm.

"What I must."

Increased beeping from the bed caught her attention. Angela's eyes darted towards the EKG, which reported a slowly rising heart rate. Then she noticed a half-used IV bag resting on the bedside table, in front of which stood its stand, where an identical but full bag hung. The solution in both were transparent, but she had a feeling…

"You changed the IV bags," Angela said, eyes locking onto the EKG screen. "What are you giving him!"

She pushed diagonally off the wall, away from the blade, but was shoved roughly back.

"Angela."

The sudden softness in Fareeha's voice threw her off. Angela kept her grip on the Egyptian's wrist, tighter with urgency that grew along with the patient's heart rate. Fareeha lowered the blade slowly, as if to calm her down. It did not.

"Please. Do not interfere. And–," Fareeha hesitated, gaze dipping for a split-second. "Do not tell anyone about me."

"You're going to kill him! His heart–"

"It has to be done. Please. I will explain in the future, if you are willing to listen."

"In the fut–?"

In a fluid motion, Fareeha retracted the blade and pulled her into an embrace. No, not an embrace. Practiced fingers found the bundle of nerves in the back of her neck. Angela felt a pinch in one moment, and saw nothing the next.

* * *

By the time Angela was found, out cold on the floor, the patient's heart had ruptured. When she woke up, he was already pronounced dead. Angela was barely given time to regain her bearings when concerned colleagues were chased out of the room, and she was questioned by two police officers – a captain and first lieutenant. The initial suspicions on her were dropped rather quickly on account of wounds that she did not remember receiving. A deep bruise on her right cheekbone, a long superficial cut across her neck, and a slightly deeper one on her right palm.

They asked if anyone else had been in the room with her. She said yes.

They asked if she remembered how they looked like. She said yes, vaguely. It had been dark.

They asked for a verbal description. She described a man in his thirties, no beard, skin of a darker hue, and distinct burn scars on his left jaw. His eyes were either black or dark brown, but the lighting had not been in her favour.

They told her to go to the station in the afternoon, for a longer line of questioning and to put together a facial composite. She nodded when they thanked her for her time, and did not watch as they left. Feeling the room get colder, she wrapped her arms around herself.

She had done what Fareeha asked. The ramifications of her action floored her, and she felt the world threatening to spin around her again. Her throat tightened and a wet exhale burst through her lips, as Doctor Nakhla bustled back in looking annoyed and muttering in Arabic. But she stopped upon noticing Angela's state, and practically flew to her side already in mother hen mode. She guided Angela's head onto her shoulder as tears fell, gently rocking the accomplished 37-year-old Swiss doctor in her distress.

"Do not mind those brutes, little angel," she crooned softly, patting Angela's back. The nickname she insisted on saying in English, that normally put a fond smile on Angela's face, fell flat. "You are fine now."

No. She was not.

The image of Fareeha, blade raised and fully ready to kill, was seared into her mind. Fareeha, who brought her flowers while she worked in the poor district. Who escorted her home through the more dangerous parts of town. Who asked her out for a dinner date with a blush on her cheeks. Who only dared to kiss her at the end of their third date. Who hummed songs of stars and heroes as she fell asleep in those strong arms. Who made love to her with gentle lips and even gentler fingers, etching declarations of passion and adoration into fair silky skin.

Everything she was, Angela loved with every fibre of her being. Everything that fell apart when Angela realised what she really was. Evidenced by the calmness as she took a life. By the surety with which she held her lover at a blade's edge. By the expertise in planting misdirection on Angela's body.

Fareeha Amari was a murderer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of the week! Thanks so much for following this. 
> 
> Whew I'm...kinda tired, actually. I have this AU planned, but I don't know if I'll do it in the near future. We'll see. Tell me what you think!


End file.
